Barcelona rooftop

I hear seagulls.

I wish the daylight

lasted longer.


The woman who never returned

The T has a way to make you tired.

A rolling motion; like a lullaby which rattles

The T fills your brain with centrifugal forces.

The voice which speaks to you without human words-

the stops which pass by so quickly.

It’s easy to miss where you’re going; and why

One rarely looks out the windows.

The scratches, shrapnel, marks on the walls,

The stained and strained old seat covers.

In a way,

they remind me of my first ever classroom

And the rug where our teacher told stories.

There’s an X written in mud under

The seat that’s across from me,

like a murderer’s signature in blood.

The tunnels consume you like frostbite or coma

You start slipping as soon as your eyes shut.